I'll Walk
by HardyBoyz4Eva
Summary: Vince/Phil. Rare Pair! After Mr. McMahon was attacked by Brock Lesnar, it's Phil's turn to take care of his master. Warning(s): Slash, Dom/sub, Care, etc. Please Review!


**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone. I also don't own the lyrics.  
**Rated:** T  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Dom/sub, care, etc.

**OOOO**

_She said, I'll walk. Please come and hold my hand. Right now I'm hurt, and I don't understand. Let's just be quiet, and later we can talk. Please stay, don't worry. I'll walk._ – Bucky Covington

**OOOO**

Phil knew of only two times when he had truly experienced utter terror. The first had been when he had taken that nasty fall two weeks before TLC and had torn his meniscus. To say that he had been in pain would be a complete understatement. Vivid stars danced before his eyes and he just couldn't imagine being able to climb to his feet and leave the ring under his own power. The second was when he received the news that Vince's hip had been broken.

Phil slid out of the shower, a fluffy white towel around his lithe waist. Tiny beads of water dripped from his short black locks, and he scrubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand before they could fall into his eyes. Taking another towel, he raked it over his sore body, making sure that he was entirely dry. It was too cold outside to risk hypothermia, after all. Once he was dry, he entered his locker room and started to dress.

Just as he had slid his acid-wash jeans on, there was a knock at the door. "Coming!" He buttoned the jeans and hurried over to the door, unlocking it and swinging it open. A distraught Stephanie McMahon was on the other side.

"Phil – I'm so glad that I caught you before you left the arena. I… I… Oh, God. All of this is happening so fast, and…" tears streaked down her pretty face, creating dark mascara lines on her tanned skin.

"Whoa. Calm down, okay? Take a seat – there you are." Phil got her a cup of water and motioned for her to drink. "Can't have you hyperventilating. Now, what was it that you were trying to tell me?"

She sniffled weakly, barely able to hold herself together long enough to form a coherent sentence. "It's Dad… he, he was attacked by Brock Lesnar… I… I'm just so thankful that you didn't have to see that."

Phil's eyebrows knitted together. "What do you mean? Brock Lesnar quit after his match at SummerSlam."

"He did. But… but…" she swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes closed. "Vickie rehired him. And now Dad, his…"

Phil's heart clenched. That sickly feeling that he had felt when he realized he couldn't stand was quickly returning. "What happened to him, Steph? C'mon… _tell me."_

Finally, she whispered, "Brock Lesnar broke his hip."

Red bled before Phil's eyes. If Stephanie wasn't there to keep him grounded, it was quite possible that he would have gone out and hunted down the blood-thirsty monster himself. _See what would happen if you went up against someone your own age, fucker_. But he didn't. Deep down, he knew what would happen if he did. Brock would hurt him. Hell, it was quite possible that Brock would _kill_ him. And that scared the shit out of him.

Phil swallowed hard. He raised his eyes to meet Stephanie's, his hands trembling in his lap. "Where is he, Steph?"

Without much of a fuss, Stephanie gave him the name of the hospital where Vince had been taken and the room that he was staying in. "You shouldn't go there, Phil."

Phil narrowed his eyes, confusion and uncertainty hidden in the olivine depths. "How the hell do you expect me _not_ to go? You can't think that, knowing all of this, I'm _not_ going to go see him?"

"He wouldn't want you to see him like this, Phil." Stephanie continued firmly.

"Yeah, well, he lost the right to make that decision when Brock-fucking-Lesnar F-5'd him into oblivion."

"You don't understand, Phil." This time, it was Stephanie whose look was unwavering. "This is a new dynamic to your relationship. Dad's not used to being taken care of. He's supposed to take care of you -,"

Phil cut her off. "And that means that I have an _obligation_ to be there for him. When I injured my knee, he did whatever he could to be there with me. I have to do the same."

"I can't guarantee that he'll be thrilled by your decision." Stephanie sighed.

Phil shrugged. "He can be thrilled or not, I don't really care. But I know what I have to do." He helped her to her feet. "Thanks for bringing me the news. I'm thankful I heard it from you and not someone else."

Stephanie only smiled sadly. It was clear that she didn't understand the full weight of the relationship between Vince and Phil. In fact, Phil would claim that nobody did. Phil needed that guidance. He needed that support system, like a skeleton, behind him all the time. And Vince needed a fresh voice, someone that wasn't afraid to voice their opinion, someone that wouldn't be _fake_ with him because of all of his money…

With Stephanie gone, Phil finished dressing. He slid on his gray 'In Punk We Trust' t-shirt and his hoodie, before sitting down on the bench to tie his tattered tennis shoes. He needed to think of a battle plan. While Stephanie may not have understood the full-extent of Phil's love for Vince, or vice versa, she was right about him not being thrilled at Phil's arrival. Vince wouldn't want him to see him in such a vulnerable state.

Once he was dressed, he grabbed his gym bag and slid it over his shoulder. The hallway was all but abandoned, as most of the other stars had gone back to the hotel by now. Out of the corner of his eye, Phil could see Brock Lesnar in the corner by Vickie's office. As far as he could tell, Brock didn't see him. But with the recent string of attacks, it made him nervous enough to hurry out to his car and speed off in the direction of the hospital.

* * *

"What can you tell me about his condition, doctor?" Phil had never been more thankful to have been listed as Vince's next-of-kin as he was now. The doctor looked at him skeptically, but answered anyhow.

"To be honest? It's not great. We still have to run some x-rays, but I'm fairly certain that he'll need a hip replacement." The doctor answered, his face serious.

Phil stared at the door. Just beyond it, his master was sprawled out in bed, unable to move. "Is he in a lot of pain?" He didn't mean for it to sound as weak as it did.

"Yes… and no." The doctor answered noncommittally.

Phil turned on him, his eyes narrowed. He really wasn't in the mood to screw around. "What the hell kind of answer is that?"

"From the swelling, it's obvious that there is serious damage to his hip. So yes, he's in excruciating pain."

"And where would the 'no' come in, then?" Phil asked, arms crossed over his chest.

"We have him on a narcotic regimen that has kept him on the brink of consciousness. It's dangerous to take the pain away at this point, so we're masking it at the moment."

Phil sighed. That knot in his stomach had returned. "Is that all you can tell me at the present moment?"

"Until we have the x-rays, yes. That's all that I have to tell you." The doctor hissed disinterestedly.

"Fine." Phil seemed just as disinterested in the doctor as the doctor was with him. "Can I go in and see him? Just for a little while? I need to see him."

The doctor waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah. Don't make it long, however. He needs to rest."

But Phil wasn't listening to him any longer. He was inside the room, the door swinging closed behind him. He slid into the chair beside Vince's bed and stared at his master's body. The broken body of Vince McMahon was stretched out on the stark, white hospital bed. A thin, white blanket was drawn over his lithe frame. An IV dangled from his arm and a ticking heart monitor filled the background with a steady, strong 'tick', 'tick'.

Vince wasn't awake, so Phil wasn't exactly sure how he would be 'bothering' him. Still, he would shoot the occasional, worried glance at the door. After a half-hour, he convinced himself that nobody would come in and take him from his master. So he set his head down on the bed beside Vince's body, his olivine eyes staring at Vince's face. Finally, he allowed his eyes to fall closed as he took hold of Vince's hand.

And before unconsciousness took hold of him, he whispered, "Whether you want me here or not, I'm not about to leave you. I'll never leave. I promise."

* * *

**One Week Later**

Anxious, Phil paced the length between Shane and Stephanie McMahon. Linda sat across from the trio, a magazine in her well-manicured hands. Occasionally, she would peer over the pages to look at her ex-husband's latest _pet_, but she never paid him much mind. She didn't really care for Phil. In fact, she didn't care for any of her husband's _pets_. They had caused the rift in her marriage and had eventually led to their divorce.

But Phil? There was something about Phil that was different. He had been in the WWE for seven years, and had warmed her ex-husband's bed for nearly five of them. There was something about Phil that excited Vince, made him feel twenty, maybe even thirty years younger than he actually was. From what Linda could tell, Phil would be around for a long time. That was, if he didn't kill himself with worry first.

Finally, Stephanie reached out to Phil with one tiny hand and pulled him down onto the seat beside her. Phil was practically trembling with nerves. After all, Vince had been in surgery for _hours_. A hip replacement took time, he knew, but this was utter torture. All of the times that he had been in to see Vince, his master hadn't been awake. He hadn't been able to talk to him, to ask him if he was going to be okay.

"We're all worried about him, Phil. It won't do any good to wear a hole in the carpet. Just sit down and take a deep breath, okay? He wouldn't want to see you like this." Stephanie said.

Phil turned to her, biting his lip ring uncomfortably. "Well, it's awfully lucky for him that he can't see me, huh?"

Steph sighed, choosing to look away and busy herself with other things. Phil started to fidget soon after Stephanie turned away and drew his knees into his chest, closing his eyes and attempting to clear his mind. It had even started to work. That was, until the doors to the OR opened and the doctor made his way over. He wore a pleased smile on his face, so that had to be a good sign, right?

"I'm pleased to report that the surgery was a success. The hip replacement took excellently and, with a little bit of physical therapy, he'll be back and 'strutting' just like new."

Phil let out a gust of air. "Thank you."

The doctor continued on to say, "He's in recovery now. You can visit him, but only one at a time. He's still weak." And then the doctor walked back into the OR.

Stephanie tapped Phil on the shoulder. "You should go in first. You need this the most."

Offering the older woman a small smile, he thanked her. He rose off of the chair and followed the doctor back to the recovery room. Vince lay on one of the many beds, looking a lot like he had one week earlier. However, this time, there was one key difference. His eyes were open and he stared at Phil adoringly. Phil slid into the seat beside his bed, taking hold of his hand. He kissed the skin there softly.

"You don't know how scared I was…" he confessed softly, almost ashamed of his own weakness.

And Vince met his eyes, offering two simple words in response. "I'll walk."


End file.
